The Chance of a Lifetime
by Bald as Malak
Summary: Disciple and Atton battle in the Trayus Academy, with the winner getting the chance to tell the Exile how he really feels.


**The Chance of a Lifetime

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**A/N:** Some of you may have seen this already. If so, my apologies. I had entered the piece in the KFM Duelling Circle Challenge, and apparently I wasn't allowed to post it here at the same time.

Sorry for any confusion, BaM

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--Thanks as always to Trillian for the excellent beta!--

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**(Disciple). Trayus Academy, Malachor V.**

Dark, so empty. Here, on this planet, is the centre of hunger whose echoes I had felt earlier, when we had wandered the galaxy looking for allies for our fight against the Sith Lords. Now I know I'm at the core of it, the place where it all started, where the source of the echo still bellows its pain.

Hangings, books in cases that line the wall, carpets, tables, chairs, they all are warped, caved in, sliding into an inorganic state that defies the decomposition of life. Sound dies, no echoes despite the cavernous rooms that beg to be filled with noise—sounds of fighting, cruel laughter, whispers of plotting… something of life however bleak its taste. But all that remains along the path that I tread are the burned bodies of dark Jedi, their bodies already starting to fade away, turning into the harsh, green sands that littered the ground outside. Where the Force should be slowly ebbing away from their cooling bodies, there is the barren stillness of non-life. It is as if the smoking wounds had lasted a millennium, not an hour or less.

All around, the swirling tentacles of the dark side reach out, licking at the corpses as they pass them by, seeking fresh life to consume, twist, and reforge. I strengthen my shields and hurry forward.

I can't stop looking for the Exile's broken body among the scattered remains of this slaughter. I am frantic, trusting in her strength, yes, but knowing the cunning of the enemies that she faces also. She is dear to me, my master who had left me by the cooling husk of the ship. As if the thought calls the past and pulls it into the present, I am back at the ship, as the Exile prepares to depart.

"Make it work again," she tells Atton and I. "We'll need it to get off this planet."

"I would come with you," I say. How can I leave her to face this cemetery of a war too long fought? What use was there in fixing a ship if she would die? I know Atton feels the same. "You should not be alone. Let us come with you."

"I will never be alone." Her eyes speaking of warm, moist earth. They are a beacon of normalcy, of things natural and organic that no longer exist on this corpse of a world. "Not while you two are alive," she continues, as I extract myself from those dark brown depths. I feel like I've planted my roots and am ready to stretch towards the sun as a tribute to lushness of her soul.

Her gaze caresses my eyes for a second, before she turns it towards Atton, holding his eyes too. "Thank you both for standing by me, for waiting."

_Does she mean waiting here, or waiting for her decision_? Though we have never spoken of it, Atton and I wait for her choice.

Atton opens his mouth, but she is already turning, trying to hide, I think, the tears that are starting to form. It is futile. On a planet like this, so barren and yet so filled with the dark side, any sign of life, of love, chasing away the sickness of this place like rampaging, laughing children dispel the anger of their parents.

As she disappears, I turn towards Atton. "Should we go after her?" He doesn't answer, but I know he will join me, so I rush into the ship, making my way through the sparking wires and smoking panels until I find my lightsaber and medical supplies. I quickly check my bag to make sure I have all the healing kits and other medical goods I might require, even as I dodge the same obstacles to exit the injured _Ebon Hawk_.

Emerging from the ship, I realize that Atton is not there.

"Atton!" I call, and then again, but no answer greets me, not even the echoes that the landscape promises, but the evil conceals.

Atton has left without me.

I run, hoping to catch him before the Academy, but even as my breath begins to come in gasps, I know my attempt will be in vain.

_I hope he'll be all right. I know he loves her, just like I do, so I suppose he couldn't wait. He's not a man for patient action after all. _

I almost twist my ankle jumping over a crevice that opens up in front of me, and I try to focus my mind away from its useless thoughts about my crewmate, but they are hard to dispel, even here where the landscape demands attention or sacrifice.

_He can take care of himself_, I remind myself, but I worry still. He is a friend and a colleague, and though I know he does not like me much, I still care about him and his welfare. _I wish he had waited. The two of us together have a much better chance of doing something useful and, if she falls, there will no gentle lady left for us to fight over. _

"Hey, kid."

I jump, then turn quickly, expecting to see Atton emerging from the vapors or some hidden alcove, but it is the hard, dull edges of the Academy, and the present, that I return to. Black ink shadows from the walls' supports provide the backdrop for Atton's bleached face.

"Atton!" I say, and for the first time in hours I feel warmth, my joy at finding him like a small fire that suddenly burst into light, warming cold fingers and fearful hearts. I have been looking for the Exile and Atton for almost an hour.

"The exile, where is she?" I ask, my voice coming in quick gasps. It is hard to breath in when each molecule of air seems to wail the torment of this broken world.

Atton lips lift into a smile, and yet their soft curve seems to hide edges that should have no place there.

"She's safe." He says, his voice relaxed, confident, more like I imagine him to be when the cards are on the table, and the players vie for credits, not heart's blood. And yet, there is something in his eyes that knows that even playing cards have edges fit to cut the unwary. "You don't need to worry about her."

And then, the smile grows wider, and falser. "You never did, really,"

I open my mouth, hoping to say words that are fortifying, brave, companionable, something that will help Atton dispel this film of darkness that is distorting his desire to protect and care. But then my sight transforms, digs into my companion, the Force guiding me to see what my illusions of camaraderie have hidden for so long.

The smile, the twinkling eyes, the easy manner. They are not being twisted by the darkness of the Academy, nor serving as the battleground where the light of Atton's soul is fighting the dark hunger here. They are hiding what has already penetrated. The mask of friendliness reminds me of the cat that toys with its catch.

He knows that I understand now, and his smile turns genuine, even more friendly. _I like you_, it says. _Share a __juma juice with you before I reach into your chest and pull your heart out. _

He gestures down the hall, urging me to walk with him towards its center. I follow, letting him lead. He is smiling, I sense, enjoying the power that comes from knowing that he can expose his back to me, and I will not strike him down.

"You know how long it's been since I killed a Jedi?" he says over his shoulder as we turn a corner. "You get a taste for it, you know."

"Well, I guess you wouldn't," he continues when I don't respond. "You need to play pazaak, with all your money on the table, and nothing left to lose. Or bury yourself into the warm, slippery insides of a Twi'lek dancer the first times she realized that dancing alone is not enough to pay the bills. Or even better, cut open a Jedi while he's spouting all that trash about the light side and redemption."

Atton sighs, and he lets me catch up, putting his left arm over my shoulders. His touch is surprisingly warm, its heat loosening the tightness of my skin even as his corrupted soul sends dark feelers towards my heart. I fortify my shields, driving back his darkness before it can corrupt me.

I try to stop, to look directly at Atton, my hand now on the lightsaber in my belt. I'm waiting for his attack, but he just continues walking, pulling me with him.

"I killed a bunch here on Malachor," he says, his voice soft, with that touch of wonder that comes with a friend sharing a heart's confidence, "while the planet was first dying,"

I open my mouth, trying to find something to say, but Atton anticipates me, putting his hand gently over my mouth. "Shh…, not yet kid. Listen and learn.

"It was a week" he continues, "after the Exile had activated the Mass Shadow Generator. There were still a few Jedi alive on the surface, survivors of the battle and the destruction. Revan tried to talk them into joining him, tried to tell them that the light would not help them on this planet, but they refused him. Revan needed them to die, and he needed to show the others how weak those who denied him were. So he sent me, a simple soldier with no Force ability, to kill them. To show the others that they were not even strong enough, that five Jedi couldn't even stand up to one, well-trained, mundane soldier."

Atton pauses, chuckles. "Revan was right. But the thing he didn't tell anyone was how good killing Jedi feels. It fills you up, kid, makes you feel powerful, alive. It's better than any juma juice, whore, or pazaak game.

"I miss that feeling," he says, stepping away from me finally. When I stop, he considers me silently for a moment. "Killing a half-Jedi like you should hold me over until the next one comes along." His hand is now filled with the hilt of his double-bladed lightsaber. "They _always_ do, you know."

_Is the one I love the next one?_ I wonder.

"Atton, Kreia is using you," I tell him, knowing as soon as the words leave my mouth that they will not work.

"Really?" he drawls, "I had no idea." He starts walking in a circle around me, slowly at first, but a little faster, faster, with each step. "Everyone uses each other, kid, and if she's using me to kill you, as I see it, I really don't lose anything."

And then the anger I've been feeling lurking inside of him, behind each smile and each spark in his eyes, finally flows out.

His words cut deep, because I realize that I am partly responsible for them. "I already lost what mattered to me. I wanted to protect her, to _help_ her, and then _you_ show up, playing hero…"

He pauses for a moment, then holds out his right hand, the hilt in it pointed straight up and down. "Fine," he says and the blade ignites. I expect it to be red, the color of the Sith, but it is still blue.

I'm not the type to find inspiration in the moment; it is in quiet contemplation that understanding comes to me. Still, I start talking, interrupting whatever he might say before he can utter words that will never be forgotten, or forgiven.

The words that pour from my mouth are the ones he must expect.

"Atton, the feelings between the Exile and I…" And then I'm grabbing my neck, my words halted as he punches my throat with his Force.

"Doesn't matter," he says. "Not anymore."

He starts moving towards me and I back up, my hand still resting on my blade, frantically trying to find words to say. But they do not come, only his lightsaber.

"I had forgotten how much I hate Jedi," he says, jabbing half-heartedly at me with his blade, "and the less of you that are in the galaxy, the better." The next thrust is quicker, more deadly. "Ready to die, kid?"

I make one more attempt. Pushing him away from me with the Force, I put all my will into making him hear my next words.

"I won't fight you Atton!" _I won't pursue her anymore_ is what I want to say next, but he's shaking his head before I can start.

"I don't care, I just want you to die."

His next swing is almost full strength, and I'm barely able pull out my blade in time to deflect. More attacks follow, faster, harder, with more intent until I know that he is fully committed. Though my heart aches to deny it, one of us will die this day.

I think about giving up, letting him win so that the Exile and he can be happy, but that choice dies as lines of corruption snake along the landscape of his face and hands, leaving trails of wasted flesh and ruined hopes.

_I will not do that to the Exile_, I realize, _she deserves better_.

And as I let go of that thought, I learn something about myself. I don't want to die. I want to live, to continue studying. I want to love and make love, to know pleasure, both of the body and from the simple power of choosing to spend a life together.

_I want her too. Is my claim less worthy? _

My blade slides along his, and Atton jumps back to avoid losing his fingers. Now it's me pursuing him across the floor, my strikes faster, harder. Committed to winning now, for my sake and the Exile's, I don't hold back.

Atton's face is soon sweating, and his eyes betray his confusion. I think he expected me to die easily, to give way to his hunger. Idealist, coward, did it matter what he had named me before? I was neither of those then, and am certainly not now. Always dismissing me, Atton forgot that I was a soldier before I become a Jedi, a killer before the diplomat and healer.

A piece of Atton's ribbed jacket falls to the ground as he barely ducks under my thrust, and then he turns and I'm running after him as he flees down the hall.

_Atton has forced this choice on me,_ I think as he pulls ahead, _now he must face the consequences of his fall._ Reaching out as if to grab his distant form with my hand, I catch him with the Force and pull him back, his feet scrabbling uselessly along the floor as his body slides towards me.

He is close, and I release him even as I drive my blade towards his torso. He rolls the side, ignoring the sparks as my blade burns into the floor beside him. I raise my lightsaber to strike again, but then a flare of light blinds me, and I'm stumbling back, trying to create distance between him and I until my sight clears.

My vision returns just quickly enough to block the next set of blows from Atton, and now it's a firaxan fight. There will be no retreat for us; only one will gain the prize he seeks.

I cry out when Atton's blade slices across my thigh. He moves in for the kill, but I have taken a page from his book. My cry was mostly faked, and as he raises his weapon, I lunge forward, driving the point of my lightsaber through his torso.

The Force must have warned him though, because he shifts to the side at the last second, and so the strike intended for his heart slices through his side instead. Yelling, he pulls himself off my blade before I can pull the blade sideways.

Such a wound would stop any normal person, but not Atton. His face sets into a carving of determination, the only movement the dancing of black flames in his eyes. Though his breath wheezes with each moment, his attacks quicken, until I can not keep up, and his blade slips into my thigh again. As I collapse to the ground, I raise my blade to block his next blow, but he twists his blade under mine, and rips it from my grasp. He pulls his lightsaber back to thrust it through me, and I see my death on its point.

A blade spears towards me and I cringe, but it is not Atton's. Green, the lightsaber erupts through Atton's chest, its length sizzling where Atton's heartblood boils and then evaporates.

I don't know how he does it, but Atton turns on that blade to see who has killed him. His gaze meets the earthen hues of the Exile's and, though I can no longer see his face, I can feel the despair that bursts from a thousand points in his body. Before my eyes, Atton's body falls apart, literally consuming itself as it obeys his desire for death, disappearing in a matter of moments.

"Thank you," I say, and she shakes her gaze from the fading morsels of Atton's remains. Holding out her hand, she lifts me up.

"He had fallen," I explain, when she raises her eyebrow. Her eyes seem sad, but not heartbroken, and my hope flares. "He was…"

I pause, unable to believe I'm finally going to say these words, but I do. "He was afraid that you would choose me over him. I believe he thought that if he killed me, you would go to him." _I will no longer fear my desires_, I think as she ponders my words.

"Well," she says softly, "I'm afraid I've dispelled that mistaken belief quite emphatically."

"I wish it hadn't come to this," my mouth says, but a part of me rejoices. I want this opportunity, more than anything. I've wanted it since I first saw her, so many years ago on Dantooine, but it seems that Atton's death has opened the door between what I want and what I say.

"I… I love you, I always have."

"Oh, Mical," she says, lifting her hand to my cheek, smiling gently, "I know."

"And you? Can you love me…" and then my breath is gone, the words fleeing as fast as the life in my body. I look down, even as a tunnel of darkness squeezes my sight, and the last thing I see is a dark red blade turning lazy circles around my heart.

I can still hear, though the words become softer and softer.

"Couldn't you have waited, Sion, just a bit longer?" The Exile's voice is still gentle, as if I'm not dying on the floor. "He's been waiting a lifetime to say those words."

"And would you have said, 'no?'" The voice is dark, as cracked as the monster I had seen on Korriban, but the light I approach does not allow me to fear him, not any longer.

Still, I want to hear her answer, and I marshal everything I have to stay on this wheel of life one more moment. All I hear is her quiet laughter.

As the warmth of the Force embraces me, I almost feel sorry for Sion.


End file.
